


let the warmth seep in

by ProseAndPeonies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Superhusbands, This is the sweetest thing Ive ever written, Tony is tired and sleepy and steve just wants to kiss him, sharing showers, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseAndPeonies/pseuds/ProseAndPeonies
Summary: Tony wakes Steve up after his nonstop flight from Tokyo on accident, but he totally reaps the benefits.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 129





	let the warmth seep in

**Author's Note:**

> Please this isn’t even the fix I wanted to write but it did give me some free serotonin so. Not beta read! All mistakes are my own! I love comments and kudos :)

The sound of footsteps is what wakes Steve. Soft, barely noticeable by anyone with normal hearing, and Steve can tell Tony has taken off his hard-soled dress shoes so as to not make as much noise. The door to their bedroom doesn’t creak, but Steve hears it open anyways, then a low, hissed ‘fuck’ when Tony inevitably jams an elbow or a toe on something in the dark. 

Steve could move, could indicate that he’s not fully asleep, but that thick lassitude that he so rarely feels has encompassed him, and he can’t find it in himself to really do anything. 

Why was Tony returning so late? Steve’s brain simply can’t remember, all he knows is that he hopes that his husband will lie down soon, that half of the bed is cold.

Even in the near-dark, Steve can make out through heavily-lidded eyes as Tony walks towards the ensuite, shedding his tie, jacket, as he goes. The door to the ensuite shuts slowly, and a single, dim light emanates from under the doorframe. 

Tokyo. 

That’s why Tony’s returning so late. A conference at SI Tokyo, where he’s been for the past week and a half, the opposite side of the globe. The conference had been something Tony had been looking forward to, a time filled with some of the brightest minds of his company. But Steve knew how hard it was for him to be so far away, to have to go to bed alone each night. The very first night he’d been gone (Steve had been about to have lunch) Tony had called him and just talked and talked and talked, until Tony had been drooping and slurring his words.

Now though… 

Steve sat up, peering at the ensuite door with soft eyes. Tony hated going to sleep without a shower.

Quietly, as quiet as Tony had been sneaking into their room, Steve stood. The sheets sighed against each other as they fell to the bed, and Steve listened to the shower start up, smelled the scent of Tony’s shower gel as he started what was probably an expedited version of his normal routine. 

Steve pressed the door to their bathroom open, frowning at Tony’s clothes scattered about the floor. Never let it be said that Tony was as fastidious about chores as he was about his armor. 

But, given his thirteen hour flight, Steve figured he could forgive him. He followed Tony’s suit and stripped out of his sleep pants, his boxers. He could see Tony’s bare body through the steamed up partition that blocked the shower from the rest of the bathroom, see the way Tony was hunched over and leaning his head against the wall. 

There wasn’t any hesitation as he stepped in with his husband, letting his feet scuff the floor.

Tony startled, but only a little, as Steve wrapped a dry-ish arm around Tony’s slick waist, pulling them together for the first time in too long.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, pumpkin,” Tony whispered, voice almost lost to the cascading sheets of water, “I’m sorry.”

Steve just shook his head, brushing his nose against the shell of Tony’s ear. The scent of Tony, warm and spicy and always a little bit like coffee, made Steve want to melt. Having Tony pressed up against him, solid and steady, made him feel like he just came home. Like _he_ had been the one on the opposite side of the world.

“S’alright,” he rasps. And Steve knows it’s playing dirty, using that voice with Tony, but he likes the sound his husband makes in return. The soft, plaintive sound in the back of his throat. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Steve adjusts the arm that he has around Tony, bringing it up to splay across his chest, Steve’s fingers stroking idly at the smattering of hair there. Tony bends into Steve’s touch, his head falling back to rest against Steve’s shoulder.

Pressing a kiss to Tony’s brow, Steve lets himself take stock. Tony looks good, like he’s been eating, and getting the amount of sleep that he’s accustomed to (if other people slept like Tony Stark did, including Steve, they’d be in a psych ward), but Steve can see the true and utter exhaustion written into Tony’s being. Suds left over from where Steve interrupted are still cascading down Tony’s left leg. 

His breath catches in his throat at the man before him.

If Steve were a more eloquent man, someone like Tony, who could bring people to their knees with just a few utterances, he’d take the time to explain how the golden light caught the water beaded on Tony’s skin. The way the tendons of Tony’s neck became pronounced with the way he tilted his head back, the way that Steve’s heart felt so full. 

But he wasn’t. He was just a guy with about two years of art school under his belt and no degree, so he said what he could.

“You’re beautiful, Tony.”

But, seemingly, it struck the right chord, because a flush darkened the tops of Tony’s cheeks.

“And you’re a sap,” Tony mumbled, but that couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

Steve kissed him then, for the first time in too long. The angle was off, the shower striking at the side of his face, but Tony tasted warm and soft and right. He raised one hand to thread it through Steve’s soaking hair, his grip surprisingly strong as he guided Steve into a position he liked better. 

There was no rush, no combustion, just an ember that reignited after being kept from the open air for too long. Tony’s tongue dipped just past the seam of Steve’s lips before he was pulling away, his chest rising and falling a little faster than it had just moments ago. 

“Honey,” Tony sighs, “As much as I’d love to, I—“

Steve just hushes him with a kiss to his cheek. “I know, doll.”

Because, really, Steve didn’t want sex in the first place. He just wants to be as close to Tony as he can get. 

Tony looks up at him then, and Steve really has to reign in a comment about how much he loves Tony’s height, because damn. It’s hard to not develop a bit of a size kink when the person you love is so much smaller than you. 

“Tomorrow, or later today, or whatever,” Tony continues, oblivious to Steve’s internal debate, “We can have some sweet, sweet reunion sex, but right now all I want is to fall into bed for at least ten hours.” 

Steve huffs a laugh and kisses his cheek again, because god, does he love him. 

“Well, do you at least want me to wash your hair?” He asks, because he knows how much that relaxes Tony.

Tony pretends to mull this over for all of one second before nodding and turning to face away from Steve, “Hop to it, soldier, before I fall asleep standing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but laughs and grabs Tony’s ridiculously expensive shampoo from one of the little built-in shelves (one of them, because the largest is where Tony’s bath items are kept, Steve is relegated to the smaller one, but he doesn’t mind). 

He squirts a quarter-sized dollop into his hand, because he wants to have a lot of bubbles, and breathes in the scent so familiar to him. Sage and grapefruit and other scents that he can’t identify fill the air as he begins to lather it in his hands before even touching Tony’s hair (this apparently was important). Gently, Steve begins to work the lather into Tony’s hair.

He allows himself a moment to luxuriate in the rich texture of Tony’s hair, still a little stiff with product in spots, but altogether soft and thick. He massages Tony’s scalp in little, tight circular movements that make Tony tilt his head back and moan. Steve is careful not to scratch Tony’s scalp too hard, but he flirts his nails around the nape of Tony’s neck, through the shorter hairs there, and that earns him another groan of pleasure. 

As he works, Steve can see the tension leak out of Tony’s shoulders, swirling down the drain with the bubbles, and pride rises in his chest. 

_I did that_ , he thinks, _I made him feel that way._

For a few more minutes, he continues his massage, but finally, when it seems like Tony is liable to list right out of the shower, Steve removes his hands from Tony’s hair. 

“Alright, then, Mr. Stark, rinse time.”

Tony grumbles something which even Steve can’t hear. 

He grins, softly and to himself, then tugs Tony back further under the spray to begin rinsing everything away. 

“What was that?” He asks, cupping a hand over Tony’s brow to keep any stray bubbles out of his eyes.

“Can’t condition t’night,” he murmurs, “it’d mess up my schedule.”

Steve just nods, because he knows better than to get in the way of Tony’s hygiene regiment. 

Gently, because Tony seems to have slipped into that rare sort of lassitude that superheroes very rarely are able to reach, Steve runs a hand through Tony’s hair to double check that it is soap-free, then he shuts off the shower. 

They stand there for just a moment, in the humid room, both still dripping wet, and Steve feels immensely happy. 

“Bed?” Tony asks.

“Bed,” Steve confirms.


End file.
